Parts of the Whole
by saoulbete
Summary: This was a painful, hated, part of the relationship, but a part of it nonetheless. And they tell themselves that this is what they want.


A/N so, due to some issues in real life I have not been in a pleasant, happy mood. I've been dark, broody, and angsty. And my writing is reflecting this. This was originally a House/Wilson fic I wrote a long time ago, that I'd been meaning to adapt for quite some time. It'll be four parts, and does have an...optimistic ending.I'm not a complete monster.

* * *

She was gone. She always was on mornings like this, no matter how hard I tried to get her to stay, she always seemed to awake early and extricate herself. Always, on mornings like this, she'd wake well before the alarm, make it out to her car, and be gone before I woke. No note, no goodbye, nothing to latch on to. Nothing left behind but a rapidly cooling spot where a body had been.

Part of me wonders if I don't somehow deserve this. After all, how many times had I done the same to previous lovers? Awaken early under some false pretence, generally involving work, simply so that I would not have to actually _awaken_ with them. The feeling that runs through you on mornings like this, when there is nothing there beside you when you wake up is not lonliness. It isn't emptiness, or feeling as though there is something missing, or sorrow, or anything of the sort.

The only word I can think of to describe how I feel on mornings such as this, when the only thing on the other side of the bed is a rapidly cooling spot that indicated that it had, in fact, been occupied and that this, that the night before was not at all a dream, was _used_. The same way that I had used so many men in the past. A source of quick and easy pleasure, and nothing more, and I cannot help but wonder if she had picked up any of the tricks she uses to leave from me.

Every morning like this, I know that this must be the way that the men I had seen must have felt. Every time I'd open my eyes to find the other half of my bed empty, with nothing, with no one, else. No note. No mention of seeing each other around, just - nothing. And we would never talk about it. Not before, not during, while we were wrapped in a haze of pleasure and each other, not later on that day when we inevitably saw each other. It is simply a part of this relationship. A hated, painful, horrible part of this relationship, but a part of it nonetheless.

After all, we had both agreed that we didn't want a _relationship._ That given our respective pasts, we were likely to simply make a giant mess of things if we were to go down that road. That both of us were terrible when it came to dating, and that our love lives were terrible messes. That was how this had began, what this was born from, after all. This started with us laughing about how it would be easier for us to relieve sexual tensions with each other rather than go through the hassle of dating, of searching out a man and placating them long enough to bed them, when all we really wanted was simply a mutually gratifying sexual release.

But it didn't mean that waking up alone on mornings like this didn't hurt. We had both agreed that we weren't dating. We didn't want to do chocolates and love letters and sappy romantic gifts between each other. We agreed to no flowers, no proclomations of love. But it didn't mean that I didn't want to be able to wake up next to her, see a slow, sleepy smile on her face. It didn't mean I didn't want to listen to complaints of how long I spent on my morning skincare routine. It didn't mean that I wanted to keep this walled in to the confines of my bedroom, never letting it be known anywhere else. It had seemed that even though we had progressed to this, we had taken this step forward, we took another two steps backward emotionally.

It's as though the near decade of friendship we've had has become jumbled up in this mess that we have become. Oh, there are still so many of our normal activities that remain the same. I still force her to yoga classes, and she still drags me to sporting events. There are still movie nights where we relax on the sofa. Still beers at the Robber with everyone else. But its different on nights like this, when she arrives in sweats and a tee shirt, carrying nothing but her keys. When we're on the couch, when we're out, when we're operating under the mask od frienship, she's lighthearted, easygoing, so much the Jane I'ce befriended in the first place. But when she arrivesand let's herself in directly to my bedroon, she's wanting, needy, but emotionally distant.

And I cannot help but wonder if this is my fault. I am, after all, the one that has allowed this to progress to _this._

And this morning is no different from any of the others where I have woken feeling used. I shower and dress, and drive to work and tell myself that this is it. Today will be the day I finally put my foot down. That today will be the day that I am sick of her slinking away and leaving me to wake alone and tell her so. That we don't need to do roses and romance and love, but that I don't want to wake up feeling used anymore. And that if she cannot do that, then perhaps we should cut out this part of our relationship.

The drive to work feels like it takes forever, and when I walk in, she's at her desk like she always is on these mornings. The others have noticed. Frost and Korsak have commented on her uncharacteristically early appearences on these mornings. She plays it off as not being able to sleep through her alarm every morning, and if she's awake, she might as well be productive. I plays off their questions as well, pretend to not know why Jane is there so early.

And I busy myself in my office with trivial work on these mornings, hoping that she will come down, even if only to say hello. Work on budget reports, supply orders, the sorts of things where an interruption would not be unwelcome, hoping that she will discuss this, rather than pretend absolutely nothing has changed when absolutely everything has.

I tell myself today will be the day that I stop being a doormat. That today, I will do what she's so fond of saying and _strap on a pair._ That I will man up, and tell her that we cannot continue with this, the way things are going. That from this day forward I will stop jumping at her command, cease following her around like a little lost puppy. That I will stand up for myself, that today will be the day where the line in the sand is drawn.

But the hours drag by, and she never comes downstairs. I throw myself into my work, but keep myself engrossed in things I can pause to have this conversation that burns inside of me. But while she never comes down, I do not go upstairs either. As much as I tell myself that this is it, that I will say that this cannot continue, I cannot bring myself to end this. Because as much as I hate waking up alone, I am afraid of being completely alone. I am terrified that if I say we need to cut out this part of the relationship, it will sever all parts of this relationship.

And I cannot risk that. Simply cannot jeopardize our friendship.

I need her too much. And I am afraid that she will view my saying I cannot stand waking up to an empty bed as my wanting a Relationship. The sort that gets qualified with the macroscule. And I've gotten quite good at convincing myself that I don't. So much so that I can say that I don't want that with her and do not expirience a vasovagal episode, do not break out in hives, because I do not view it as a lie. I cannot risk the most meaningful connection I have ever had with someone over something so trivial.

I would very much rather wake up alone, with no note, no goodbye, with nothing more than a rapidly cooling other half of my bed than risk losing Jane completely. I would rather awaken feeling used than deal with the sickening feeling that surfaces whenever I begin to consider what my life would be like without her. The thought of living out the rest of my days without sarcastic comments, petulant and infantile whining, and fascinatingly accurate instincts terrifies me. Scares me, as she would say, absolutely _shitless_ And when she appears again, in the middle of the night, lets herself in and goes directly to my bedroom, I do not deny her, could never deny her, even though I know I will wake alone again tommorow.

It is simply a part of our relatiobship. A hated, painful, horrible part of it, but a part of it none the less.


End file.
